Addiction
by myfeethurt
Summary: You aren’t even addicted to the cigarettes or the nicotine, you’re addicted to her. Read and Review, preferably


A/N: This is what happens when you (with your eyes closed) pick a random book off your bookcase to write about.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

* * *

**Addicted**

_lighter_

Your lighter is being slow to light once again, most likely from overuse. Kris would laugh at the absurdity of the notion of overuse; you only bought it a few weeks ago. Nevertheless, you know it's true. You have to swear at it to get it to light but when it does, you consider apologizing. It wasn't the lighter's fault you're messed up, you reflect. Scrambling for a cigarette, you nearly groan in relief when you inhale the smoke while some preppy girl yells at you for smoking on school property. Mumbling an apology around the cigarette, you shove the lighter back into your pocket to await another smoke.

_puff_

You know by now, that even when this cheap plastic BIC lighter runs out you'll still keep it. You don't even want to keep it but you know you will. 'Cause the day you pulled it out of it's cheap plastic was the day _she_ walked back into all of these years. Walked right up to you and didn't say anything (nothing with _her_ voice at least), just stared at you with _her_ clear blue eyes.

Eyes that told you that _she_ hadn't forgotten who you are (or were) or what you are.

_puff_

After that, you just kept on coming back for more despite _her_ obvious loathing and outright snubbing of anything you do, think or care about. But, you just keep on trying harder because you feel compelled to. God knows you've tried harder at this (even though you're not sure what "this" is) than you have at anything else in your lifetime. What draws you to _her _anyway? _puff_

Alexia said what was on your mind at the test match. _She_ isn't that pretty, nor is _she_ easy to be around. Sure, _she_ is determined and driven but that isn't too uncommon. There are hordes of girls that are just as driven, if not more, to be found in a Grade A topnotch genius school like Lucrece. They all bore you to tears, though. _She_ makes you cry too but for different reasons.

_puff_

_Her _petty little grudge act is getting old though. You know and everyone else knows that it isn't about that, not anymore at least. _She_ probably doesn't even remember the hamster's name anymore. You didn't mean to kill it, anyhow. You found it rather cute, actually. The old bookcase just broke down and so you apologized (repeatedly). _She_ just broke down and stopped. Stopped acknowledging your existence for the most part. Suddenly, you weren't even worth a squabble anymore.

_puff_

You find _her_ interesting because when you stare at _her_ long enough you can watch _her_ strong-willed determined façade slip for an instant, and reveal the small fearful little girl inside. The same little girl you just wanted to make laugh because all you ever saw was _her_ scared bawling face. Then mask goes back on and _she_'s even more determined (although determination for what you have not the slightest idea). Determination to have more determination?

_puff_

Years have passed but all that's changed is the way _she_ tries to be so courageous. The fact that you can't take your eyes off _her_ never changed, not once. _She_ still fascinates you after all this time. Your reliance on her is so strong isn't even laughable. And, all you ever were worth was a laugh or too. Now what defines you? _She_ does. You just lost what little self worth you had. It's all right though, because if _she_ will be there you never needed it any way.

_puff_

You don't belong here, and everyone knows it. You didn't even want to go here, but since you had nothing better to do with your life you enrolled. You know that the only reason you're popular here is 'cause the school has a shortage of slackers and that makes you exotic. Like one of those humongous multi-colored birds people like to call beautiful then stuff in a small dark cramped cage for the rest of their measly lifetimes.

_puff_

Can't even blame anyone for anything. It's all unclear. Everything but that _her_ and you are connected, even if _she_ denies your small little niche in _her_ world. That won't change anything. _She_ can't, not after the test game that served as a catalyst anyway. Both of you know that goal was for _her_. Hell, the whole team even knows. To say it wasn't is just a waste of time and oxygen; the pair of which could have been spent smoking a cigarette.

_puff_

You didn't even smoke that much before _she_ came back. Just a few when you were stressed or anxious. Ever since that day, your new mantra has been a pack or two a day (give or take a few). Kris thinks it's hilarious, of course. Not that he knows about your fixation with _her_, not the extent of it at least. Instead, he decides that you've started chain smoking to look cool and pick up girls. That was typical slacker behavior, so you just said nothing and he acted as if it were true. You don't answer, just look at the plume of curling smoke in front of you. You wonder if the fire destroys the oxygen that it needs to survive is it also destroying itself in the process. Was it worth it?

_puff_

The team keeps telling you to quit even though you know you can't cut down or even change the brand if you wanted to. You aren't sure you even want to. Gotta die of something. Because when you inhale that smoke, it helps numb the ache somewhere between your heart and your soul that _she_ caused. When _she_ isn't there (and especially when _she_ is) you feel like you're suffocating. No matter how many times Delia tells you that you can't smoke and get in shape, or how much inane shit Alexia spews about how you shouldn't want to be a Trabbi, you can't quit. At least not until _she_ tells you that you can and that it'll be okay (even if it won't be).

_puff_

The warning bell rings. Crap. You take a last puff, throw the remnants of the cigarette on the sidewalk and crush it under your sneakers while striding through the front doors of the high school. Walking through the rapidly emptying hallways, you find yourself in front of _her_ class door. Who are you trying to fool, anyway? You aren't even addicted to the cigarettes or the nicotine, you're addicted to _her_. _She_ has to be your own personal drug designed to drag you to your own personal hell. Joy.

_filter_

You want to see _her_, if only for a second. Won't do you any good, but you peer into the window set into the door and there _she_. There _she_ is in all here brilliance and stupidity while you're over here willing here to look at you. Your eyes meet when _she_ does, and you can't look away. Obviously _she_ can, 'cause that's exactly what _she_ does and your stomach plummets. Then, you're left dry-mouthed frantically scrambling through your pockets for a cigarette while you stumble miserably to class. Pathetic.


End file.
